The Island
by newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O
Summary: Everybody knew about the Refuge. But then again, nobody knew anything about it. Set before strike... 1893-ish...
1. Chapter 1

Let me know what you think! I promise that I will update my other story soon - Italian Shortstop - I've just hit a roadblock...

* * *

Everybody knew about the Refuge.

Everybody knew that you didn't want to get caught, because then you'd _have_ to go to the Refuge.

But not everybody knew what happened in there. Or why. Or even where the real Refuge was.

Sure they all knew about the Refuge in Manhattan. But not many knew that, that Refuge was simply a "holding tank" for kids. They didn't know what happened to kids when they went in. Or what happened to them when they left that Refuge - and were sent to the Island.

The Island was the real Refuge; the one that the State was so proud of. And it was even more like a jail than the one in Manhattan.

It was on Randall's Island - a place where nobody wanted to visit, even on a good day. It's where New York threw everything - and everybody - they didn't want to deal with.

. . .

And me? What do I have to offer to this tale?

Well, I was there when it happened.

I was there when some of the kids from Long Island City started looking for answers.

And when you search for answers, all you get are more questions.

Until they catch you.

And then you're done for.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies... sad face :(

Note: This story is told from the eyes and ears of an eleven year old boy. It's written in his dielect - which is a mix of a bunch of different dielects - and as most eleven year old boys I know, he tends to go on rants... So, if you can't understand a few parts let me know (that was kind of an experiment...)

* * *

The day it started, I was on a ship. I'm always on a ship.

I'm a ship-boy - an eleven year old shipboy. At least, I think I'm eleven. I really don't know how old I am. The guys on the ship gave a birthday - August 19th.

What's a shipboy, ya ask? Well, nothing special really, but real important. I help the cook, the doctor, and even the cap'in. I am one of the most needed people on a ship. Nobody can survive without me. That's how important I am. But back to the story:

That day, in late June, we docked in New York Harbor. I'd been there a few times before, but never for more than a day or two. This time we were stayin' for three days.

The Cap'in was gonna meet with his sister's family, and the cook was gonna find some good grub for everyone down by the markets, 'cause the food was startin' to go bad. And the doc - he had to go "meet up with a friend." So, that left me all 'lone. But I di'n't mind. I usually have to do cleanin' on the ship. But this time, I couldn't. The ship was bein' repaired. We'd been in a nasty storm 'bout eight miles off shore, and lost a few men. May they rest in peace.

Anyway, I had bigger problems at that point: What was I spose'ta do with all three days of free time? 'Speicaly in a city like New York.

I was conf'ident I'd find somethin' to do. I always did.

. . .

We pulled into the fourth dock off of Flushin' Ave. This was they were gonna fix up old _Jade_. That was the name of our ship; _The Jade Lady._ She got her name 'cause the old Cap'in - real crazy one, he was - was in the Orient, when - story goes - he saw the most beautiful woman in the world. He soon met her and asked her to marry him. But she told 'im that she was gonna be sold into a marriage two days later. She said that she loved 'im, but she couldn't do nothin' 'bout it. Then, two days later, the old Cap'in came to the weddin' with a huge ship, that he bought for the lady. She 'en ran away with 'im, and they got married. 'Said they loved e'chother. But soon after, they ran into a huge storm. The ship was capsized. And the lady drowned. The old Cap'in went back to the place where he bought the ship, and told 'em to build 'nother one, 'zackly the same as the first. And 'e named it _The Jade Lady. _Odd thing was, old _Jade_ - she don't look like an Asian ship. She looked like a mix of a clipper, and a steam boat.

But that's 'sides the point. When we docked on Long Island, everyone got off. I was the last to go - I always was.

They weren't gonna take the ship in fer repairs 'til that afternoon. So, I stayed with old_ Jade_, 'till then. I was up on the main mast, lookin' out over Brooklyn. This was my favorite spot in the whole world. I loved sittin' on beams of the mast, my leg hangin' over the edge. When we were out at sea, you felt likie you flying; and when the ship was docked, you felt on top of the world. And I was on top of the world. I was at my best when on a ship. I knew the sea - and I felt at home on it. Lookin' out, I saw that Brooklyn was a pretty city. With lots 'a people, doin' everyday stuff - like goin' to work, and doin' things they had to do. But me, I had all the time in the world - I could whatever I wanted. And no one could stop me.

. . .

Soon enough, I was kicked off of old _Jade_ by the shipwrights. Told me to scram, they did. I would'a socked 'em, but there were too many. So, I got up and left.

I started wondering down the docks. 'Kept to the river, though.

Soon, I came to a different sort of pier. It wasn't a repair dock; and it didn't have any locks, neither. It almost looked like it'd been a'banded a'while; and now, it was overrun by kids. Well, older kids. There was a few younger ones, but now that many.

I started wandering down this strange dock, lookin' 'round in amusment.

"What's you'smirkin' at kid?" Somebody said, from above.

I slowly turned around, and looked up. And on top 'a a bunch 'a crates, was a boy - well, not really a "boy", per say; a older boy, really. He looked Sweedish. He had blond hair that was real flat; and peircing blue eyes - but not mean blue, but a' ocean blue; it kinda made you feel sad, lookin' into his eyes, even though you could tell he wasn't sad at all.

"I said, boy, What's you'smirkin' at?"

"Ah- Nothin'", I said.

"Good", said the older boy on the crates, "But ain't you out sellin' papes?"

"Ah- " I didn't have a clue what this boy was talkin' 'bout.

So, one 'a the other boys came in and helped me, "Naw. 'Cause he was selin' out wid me."

The older boy only raised his eyebrow, obviously knowin' that this kid was lyin', but he a'ssepted the answer, and told us to be on our way.

"What's you doin', tawkin' that way ta da Big Man?" The boy who rescued me asked.

"Da Big Man?" I asked, immatatin' him.

"Yeah", he said, unphased, "The King."

"The King?"

"You ain't from heah, are ya, kid?"

I shook my head.

He sighed, "So, where ya from? Hoboken? Italy? Boston? Germany? Where?"

I thought about for a sec'nd, 'for sayin', "I don't know."

"What'd ya mean, ya don't know?"

"I mean, Mister-cranky-pants, I don't live in jus' one place", I told him.

"That don't make any sense", he said.

I sighed, "I live on a ship."

"So, you's a shipboy?"

I nodded. And to my suprise, the boy smiled.

"Good, we's been needin' someone like you", he said, "By the way, name's Spot."

"Spot?" I asked scepticly, "How'd you get that name?"

"It's a funny story", he said, chucklin' to himself. He then looked up at me and asked, "What's yer name?"

"Earl", I said, "Are you gonna tell me how-"

"Oil?" he asked.

"No, Earl", I said, a bit slower, "But, are you gonn-"

"Yeah, Oil. It's whad I said", Spot said.

"Okay... sure", I wasn't too sure 'bout this Spot guy. But I went out on a limb - as some of the guys called it - and said, "You can call me, Cap'in - if you want."

"Naw, I like Oil", Spot said.

_Shut down!_

But the Spot-kid kept talking, "So, Oil, how old are ya?"

"Eleven", I said proudly, "I'll be Twelve in a month and a haf'."

"Woah", Spot said, "Same. I's turnin' Twelve in two weeks."

"Teriffic..." this Spot character was startin' to get on my nerves.

* * *

Let me know what you think! (it doesn't matter if you have an account or not!)

Real Quick: The whole "Earl - Oil" thing... All of my friends from back home (in Brooklyn) always made fun of my accent. They always said that I could never say "Earl". Apparently, I pronounced it like "Oil". So, that's why its in there...

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 has finally made it! Yay!

Let me know what you think! (References are at the bottom, if you come across terms that you're not sure of)

* * *

"So ya got t'a plan, right Oil?"

"Well, yeah bu-"

"Good. So, yu'll do it, right?"

"Well, I guess. But I-"

"Good. Now, I'll'meet'ya back heah at sunset. An' I want it done, Oil", Spot's voice still rung in my ear. _"I want it done."_

That was just about an hour ago. And now I was sitting on a stoop on Bridge street - which was an odd name, at least in my mind, fer a street with no bridge on it. I scolled all-frust'rated-like - with my head in my hands and all. It was 'n a'dventure - that's what he called it, at least - 'n a'dventure. An' he didn't even tell me 'zacky _what_ this grand a'dventure was.

My mission? Get a boat from the yard - more like steal a boat - and bring it back to "The Newsie" dock.

My plan? That was a work in progress.

Why in the hell was I doing this? I hadn't got a clue. I guess because that Spot kid said so. And why in the hell not? I got nuttin' else better to do, right?

But how in the hell was I gonna get a boat off the yard?

_"You'se a shipboy, ain't'ya?"_ That's what that Spot kid said. And, yeah - I'm a shipboy. But that's 'bout it. I ain't no capt'n! I ain't 'loud ta go gal'a'vantin' 'round a shipyard takin' boats! I'd get taken from my crew if I e'er got caught fer somethin' like that.

But I said I'd do it. And I gotta be true to my word - that's what we're always told. Even if all yer money don't 'mount ta nuttin', as long as yer word is true, you could always climb back up. 'Cause this world id full 'a cheaters, and there's gotta be some 'a us who are a'right.

And it happened to old capt'n, once - the old crazy one, who build old _Jade_. When he was young, he came across a nice lot money. He was real weird 'bout it too - wouldn't let it leave his sight. Told his crew that if anyone e'er stole his money, he'd shoot 'em. And then, in the middle of the night, his crew came into his cabin, and knocked 'im out. He woke up the next day on a dingy out in the Indian Ocean, with a pistol and some grog. The crew had revolted 'gainst him, and left 'im to die. But he was "rescued" by an Indian fisherman. He told the fisherman everthin' that happened to him - didn't lie to 'im a once. An' he worked on that fishin' boat fer almost a year, until he earned enough money to leave.

An' when he found all his crew again, he shot each 'n e'ery one of 'em in the middle 'a the night - with the very same pistol that they'd given him, when they left him fer dead.

. . .

The clock above me chimed - real loud too - eight a' clock. Sunset in June was later - almost half past eight. So that gave me a half hour to get a boat back to that Spot kid.

I stared aross the street and down a few hundred yards at the ships docked waiting for repairs, for a few seconds. Why in the hell was I here? I couldn't do this. What if I stood out?

_"Ya blend right in, Oil",_ Spot had said_, "With those closes ya wearin', you won't stand out a bit."_

I looked down at my ratty clothes. They were made from leftover dungarees - the cloth we use fer the sails - from Old _Jade_'s last trip to India. My pants were still too big fer me, and were being held up by some extra rope that I'd found. There was a big ol' patch - that I'd fixed all by myself, thank you very much - on my right knee; but it was startin' to come undone. My shirt was all baggy and worn, and the sleeves had been pushed to my elbows so many times that it'd stretched out the material; so much that I had to keep the cuffs forever rolled up.

Takin' a deap breath, I turned my 'ttention back to my mission. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat. Steal a boat.

Don't get caught.

. . .

I tip-toed my way across the street and onto the yard. I knew that I looked fearful, but I couldn't'a helped it.

"Boy", someone called out at me, "What are you doin' here? Where's yer ship?"

I turned around to see a big burly tar walkin' toward me. He was pr'olly the just the tar on the second dogwatch, but I was still a'scared of him. He could still get me kicked off 'a my ship, forever.

"Ah-" I said, stumblin' with my words, "I needed to get something off of my ship. The cook sent me, 'cause he's still at the markets, gettin' food." _What else would he be doin' at the markets, ya numbskull?_, I thought at myself.

"And what exactly is it that the cook wants you to get, that he can't wait fer tomorrow to get himself?"

"Ah-" I didn't know what to say, "He wanted me to get...his, um- nightcap. Yeah, his nightcap. He's a big one, but he can't get to sleep without his nightcap." - I started to really slip into the strecher. Made it sound real - "And everyone deserves a good night's sleep, right? Are you gettin' a good night's sleep tonight, sir? Or do they have you on the first nightwatch, too?"

The tar looked like he was gonna yell at me to get off the yard. But in'stead, he sighed and his head dropped in the littlest 'mount - almost like he was givin' up, "They got me on three watches, boy. Dogwatch, first nightwatch, and midwatch."

"That's real bad, sir", I said, givin' him sympa'thy, "A tar like you shouldn't haveta do that. You sould tell 'em that you can't do all three watches. That's gotta be at least..." - I counted with my fingers the hours - "Ten hours! No one should gotta do that, sir."

"Thanks a lot, kid", the tar said, "But you think I haven't tried that one yet. They won't let me. And I've tried e'erythin'."

"Are you the only tar at watch?"

He shook his head, "Nah. But I'm the only one for this side of the yard. I don't know what they were thinkin'. Cuttin' costs, I get. But ten hours of watch for one person, I don't."

"I hear ya", I said, "It's hard to watch a yard - this place is huge!"

"Yeah", he said, "But I've only got the south-east docks."

"That's still a lot."

He nodded, "Yeah. A lot", he then looked back to me, "But you outta go get your cook's nightcap, or he'll start wonderin' what happened to ya."

"Nightcap? Oh- yes. His nightcap. I'd better go get that."

It was obvious that he knew I was lyin'. But he didn't seem to mind too much anymore, "You ain't really here for a silly old nightcap, are ya boy?"

"No", I ad'mitted.

"Then what is it?"

I looked around, thinkin' of a good believable stretcher to tell him. Then I leaned toward the tar, and told him with my voice low, "You won't tell nobody I was here, right?"

"Not 'lest I have to", he said, in the same low-ish voice.

I straightened my back up again, and told him, "I miss the ship."

"Well, that's perfectly normal fer a kid", he replied, "Normal fer any good tar, really."

I smiled as he called me a tar, "Really?"

"'Course", he said, "Now, let's go find yer ship. I'll let ya stay fer a few hours, but ya gotta leave 'for ten."

"That's fine", I said. _I'll be gone 'fore then. I'll have stolen from you 'fore then._

. . .

It didn't take too long to find old _Jade. _She was 'zackly where I left her earlier that afternoon. Before I met that Spot kid. Before he made me steal.

The tar and I looked up at old _Jade_, "This yer ship?"

I nodded.

"Well, you brought her just in time", he said, "I was lookin' at her when I came in. Musta been out in a storm 'cause, her hull'd been weakened mighty good. Wouldn't'a made it had you been a couple more miles away."

I looked up at the tar. I didn't realize that we'd come that close to loosin' old _Jade. _I looked back up at the ship - she was e'erything that I'd come to know and love. I thought of all the places I'd been, while still standin' on her ever-sturdy deck. All the times I'd been told to "toe the line", fer bein' roudy. I knew e'ery bump, crack, and crevice on that ship. And I'd almost lost all of that. It was almost too much to bear.

"Do you have an extra dingy?"

The tar looked at me, confused, "What?"

I'd surprised myself, too by askin'. But it didn't feel right - stealin' from the yard, while the tar was on watch. 'Specially after what he'd told me 'bout old_ Jade_, "An extra dingy. Do you have one?"

"Kid", he said, "Are you really askin' that? 'Course we got extras. Gotta have extras. Always."

"Well", I asked, hesit'ant'ly, "Could'ya spare one?"

He looked at me, "What for?"

I took a deep breath, and told him about my mission.

"And that's why I need a dingy. Please, sir?"

He looked like he wasn't gonna answer. Just stood there fer a few seconds, "Do you know where exactly you boys are goin' with that dingy?"

I thought for a few seconds, tryin' to remember anythin' about where we were goin', "He asked me if I knew anythin' about Randall's Island. That might be it."

"Then, no. I can't spare a boat. Not fer that", he said, lookin' all serious again.

"Why not?" I was suddenly angry at him, fer not givin' me a boat after what I'd told him.

He bent down on one knee, and looked me in the eye, "Look, kid. There ain't nothin' good on Randall's Island. You'll just get yerself killed. And I ain't taken no part in that."

That should've been my first warning.

. . .

The sun was setting over the city of Manhattan and it was turning the whole sky a bright yellow-orange. I sat in my dingy, and looked up at the sky, listening to the cities on either side of me, and the gulls that flew overhead. And I couldn't help but thinkin', _This was how it should be. _

What? Wondering how I got the dingy? Well, you see this bruise on my eye? You should see the other guy.

And no, I didn't beat up the tar - in fact, I didn't beat up anyone. 'Just told the tar that I'd just go up onto old _Jade_ fer a bit. I took one of the life boats from the back of the boat, took some food from the galley (it ain't "good stuff", but it'll haveta do) and just as I was puttin' the second oar into the socket, I turned around, and the other oar hit me in the eye - bruisin' it good.

"Karma", is what the cook whould'a called it.

* * *

**References:**

Bridge Street: actually has no bridge... It's attached to a road that has a bridge, but the name of the street changes. I always found that kinda funny.

Ship yard: Where ships and boats are put for repairs, and also to load and unload shipments.

Dungarees: Cheap cloth made in India. Used by many for sails, and when unsuable for that - turned into clothes for the sailors.

Tar: Slang for Sailor.

Strecher: Lie.

Dogwatch: Noon to 4:00 p.m. Afternoon watch  
4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. First dogwatch  
6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. Second dogwatch  
8:00 p.m. to midnight 1st night watch  
Midnight to 4:00 a.m. Middle watch or mid watch  
4:00 to 8:00 a.m. Morning watch  
8:00 a.m. to noon Forenoon watch

The City of Manhattan: Before 1898, Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens were all seperate cities. And on January 1st, 1898, the Greater City of New York was formed. So, in this story, I will be refering to Brooklyn as the City of Brooklyn; Manhattan as the City of Manhattan, or New York; and Queens as Long Island City (as it was called before becoming Queens). Look this stuff up - it's really kind of fasinating!

"Toe the line": As a punishment, young boys of the ship, were typicaly told to "toe the line". This was to stand for a length of time with their toes just touching the seams of the deck (the spaces between the deckplanks that were filled in with mixture of tar and pitch). They had to stand there without talking to anyone - whether the skys were clear or not, and no matter how cold or hot is was.

Galley: The kitchen of a ship.

Reviews are wonderful!

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


	4. Chapter 4

Sooo sorry it took so long for me to get this one out. Life's been pretty insane.

So anyway, here's chapter 4!

Once again, references are at the bottom. And let me know what you think! :)

p.s. - I don't own Spot... Just the rest of them. :)

* * *

"Nice shinnah", I heard a voice say as I tied the dingy up to the dock. Spot's voice.

I turned and smirked, "You should see the other guy."

"You were in a fight?" said another voice - a different one. It was higher pitched, and, oddly enough, interested in what I had to say.

"Yeah", I lied, "Gettin' this boat for that kid over there." I pointed to Spot, feelin' smirk.

The boy who spoke before came closer, and I noticed that he wasn't alone - there were two others behind him. The boy had freckles all over his face, and was missin' a tooth on the side of his mouth. His eyes matched his hair - brown, "How'd it happen?"

I couldn't help myself. The story was already forming in my mind. So, I sat down and told it, "Gettin' past the ta- the sailor on watch was easy. I gave 'im some grog, and let him talk and vent his problems out to me. See, drunks have no problem tellin' you anythin' you want to know - 'long as you give 'em some grog. So, I left 'im there with a bottle of the stuff, and went to find a ship with some extra boats hangin' off the side. See, they usually take those off when ya repair a ship, so it was hard findin' one that's still got 'em. But soon I found the right one - looked like she'd come in that mornin', and hadn't had a chance to be inspec'ted. So, I climbed onto the ship, slowly makin' my way cross the gangplank, and just when I thought that I was home free, I spotted someone else on the deck - pr'olly a shipwright's apprentice, by the looks of his age. He didn't see me, but the second he turned around, he was gonna. So, 'fore he could catch me, I punched him - square in chin. But he hit back - right in my eye. And then one thing led to another, and he "fell" below deck. Maybe he should be more careful where he steps, next time."

One of the guys - I didn't see which one - gasped, "Whoa. You killed 'im?"

"I don't know", I said, "Didn't lay 'round to find out."

"Yeah, well", Spot said, "Ya late."

"But I got what you wanted", I said.

"Yeah, Spot", the freckle boy said, seriously, "He got it. Now lets get outta heah 'fore anyone catches us."

"N'one's gonna catch'us", Spot said, "'Least not while's I'se heah. And 'sides, we still need intro'ductions."

The freckle boy then turned to me real fast, and stuck out his hand, "I'm Kazik" - he leaned in a bit - "But Spot can never pronounce my name, so he just calls me Kaz."

"My name's Cecilio. But everyone calls me Chay", said a smaller boy - almost sheepish lookin'. He had glasses that were broken and too big fer 'im. He had darker skin - Mediterranean lookin' - and real curly hair. His golden-brown eyes were wide - taking in everything around him.

"And I'm Aidyn", said the third, smirkly. He had freckles too - though not as many as Kazik - and brown-ish red hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed in a while, so it stuck out everywhere.

They all looked the same age. In fact, we all looked the same age. I guessed that Chay was the youngest - maybe ten - and the rest of us were the same year.

I turned to Spot, "So, why'd you bring them, too?"

"T'ought ya's might need'a crew", he said, shrugging.

"Okay", I looked at the other boys again, "How long are we gonna be gone?"

Spot answered, "Two days."

"And do we have food for those two days?" I asked.

"I told'em ta bring stuff", Spot said.

"Well, did _you_ bring anythin'?"

"Nah", he said, "D'ey brought 'nuff ta share."

I sighed and turned to the boys, "Well, what'd you guys got?"

Kaz spoke up first, "I brought some Kielbasa."

"I brought Nduja", said Chay, softly.

"Biroldo", was all Aidyn said.

"Hm", I said, "You all brought sausages?"

"It's the easiest thing to snag", Kaz said solemnly.

"Well, it's a good thin' that I brought bread from the ship", I said, "Sorry if it's stale, though."

"Anything's fine", Kaz said.

Spot looked annoyed, "We'se just gonna sit a'round 'n tawk 'bout sausage? Or we'se goin' to da i'land?"

"Spo-", Kaz started, like he was warnin' him. But I needed to ask that Spot-kid somethin' before I left the dock.

"Yeah", I piped up, "Spot, why are we going to this 'Island'?"

"Because", he said, "We gotta get someone."

"So this is a pick-up?" I said, disapointed, "I thought that it would be a bit more excitin' than that."

His eyes narrowed, and he walked closer to me. Kaz put his hand on Spot to stop him, but it was just shrugged off.

"Oh, it's more'en a pick-up, Oil", he said, "It's'a rescue."

. . .

Once we finally got everyone onto the boat, and settled in, it was well past nine 'o clock. The others went to sleep pretty fast, and just Chay and I were left awake. We were told that we were the best two for the job to get the boat to the Island, 'cause I knew the water, and Chay knew the way there. I got up and lit the oil lamp at the front of the boat so that none of the ships would run us.

Chay looked at me as I sat back down and started to row, and said in his light voice, "Why is your name Oil?"

"It's not", I said.

"Then why are you called that?"

"My name's Earl", I told him, "But Spot says it as Oil. I think it's just his accent. It's pretty thick, ain't it?"

Chay smiled, "Yeah. He didn't used to have it though. He's tryin' to get rid of his Irish accent. If he grows up and can't get rid of it, he'll never get a real job."

"Oh", I said.

"Yeah", he said, "He's as Irish as you can be, too - got the temper and everything. But sometimes he acts it up a bit, if you ask me" - he rolled his eyes - "I'm from Italy. I know I'm not all that, well, interestin', but I see things - things that other people miss. I think that's why Spot keeps me around. Kaz: he's Polish - and if ya haven't noticed, he's kind of the peacekeeper of us. The only one with a sensable head on his shoulders, and the guts to go against Spot. He's the reason we're still all together, really. And, well, no one knows what Aidyn is - he won't tell no one. But he's fierce - and protective; so don't cross him."

"Okay", I said, "I'll keep that in mind."

We sat in silence for a bit. Me rowin' and Chay lookin' out for others on the river, "What are you?" he asked

"Huh?"

"Well? Are you English? Scottish? 'Cause you look like you're from Northern Europe", he said.

"Yeah", I said, almost to myself, "I've been told that."

"So, what are ya?"

"I don't really know, exactly", I said, "My mother died a few days after givin' birth to me - but I don't even know when."

"What do you mean, you don't know when? Don't you not know how old you are?"

"Naw", I said, shaking my head, "Not really. The guys on the ship, though, they gave me a birthday. August 19th, 1882."

"But you don't _really_ know?"

"No. But I know about my father; everyone knew my father", I said.

"Then how is it that you know all about your father, but you don't know what you are?"

"'Cause, my father's only half 'a me. And I only know a bit about where he was from. So, I only know half of what I am, that's how", I said.

He rolled his eyes, "Well then, what was your father?"

"His name was August Archie Wilkinson. And he was a _pirate_", my eyes openin' a bit bigger on the last word.

"Shucks, There ain't no pirates anymore", Chay said real loudly. I didn't think that he had it in him to talk that loud. But then his voice got all quiet again as he added almost to himself, "Just like there ain't no West."

"There might not be any pirates right now", I said, "But there was. And my father was part 'a the last battle - the final stand of the pirates. I know the story by heart. It was June 17th, 1870, in the -"

"Wait", Chay said, "This isn't gonna be one of your make-believe stories again, is it?"

"What? Why would I make this up?"

"'Cause you made up the story about your black eye, that's why", he said. I froze. _How did he know?_ But then he said, "You may fool a lot of people, but you can't fool me."

"How'd you know?" was all I could muster. I started to slow down my rowing pace. I thought that story was golden.

"Well, it wasn't all that hard, really", he said, "None of your points mached up. How exactly are you sus'posed to deck a guy in the chin, when you're behind him, and he don't know you're there? And if you'd been in that fight, he'd of tried to get at you. And you'd have bruises on your knuckles. And probably blood on your shirt, too."

"Oh", I said, rowing even slower, "I thought that it was good."

"Yeah", Chay told me, "It was - for the rest of those guys. They all believed you - and they won't question your story, don't worry. But I question. I look for liers. And I find 'em everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"Yeah", Chay said, "Haven't you noticed? Everyone lies - and they all pretent that they don't."

"Oh", I said, not knowing how to come back to that.

"So, what I want to know, is", Chay said, "Is this story fake? 'Cause if it is, don't waste your breath."

"It's true", I said, "Or at least the way I'll tell it now, is true..."

He rolled his eyes. And I picked my rowing pace again.

"Well, the start's the same. My father's name really was August Archie Wilkinson, and he was _sort of_ a pirate."

"Knew it", I heard Chay say to himself.

"Anyway, he was a cabinboy - a shipboy, like me. Only his ship was a pirate ship."

"What was the ship's name?" he asked scepticly.

"The _Forward_", I said, "Not much of a pirate name, I know, but it was The _Forward. _And my father was with her on her last day; June 17th, 1870. Down in Mexico, in Boca Teacapan. And it was Nine at night when she was attacked..."

* * *

References:

Grog: Liquor, typically composed of a weak beer and rum.

Kielbasa (Ke-bas-ah) or (Ke-bas-ee) It's a Polish sausage.

Biroldo (Beer-all-do) It's an Italian sausage. And, I know this sounds gross but Biroldo is it's also known as "blood sausage". It's made from, (if you're squeamish, DO NOT READ THIS)primarily, the blood of pig or cattle, and thickened it with fat, fatty cuts of meat, and potatoes. Once the blood is thick enough, you put it through a sausage roll, and leave them alone for a while. Once a nice casing has formed around them, you can really cook them (ie. in the oven, in a pan, or in a fireplace). Oddly enough, not as bad as it seems - if you didn't know where it came from, you wouldn't be able to tell.

Nduja An Italian sausage. It's a soft sausage, and typically spread onto bread - but it has a thick casing that keeps in all the juicy flavors. It's made from pig head, trimmings from various meat cuts, some clean skin, and fatback of a pig, and roasted hot red peppers. So, it's spicy. Again, not that bad. Sometimes made a little spicier than I like it, but it's pretty good.

Let me know what you think!

And sorry again for giving this to you so late...

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


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